


Honey, Come Home

by BeautifulBlues



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Epistolary, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-20
Updated: 2013-04-20
Packaged: 2017-12-08 23:42:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/767451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeautifulBlues/pseuds/BeautifulBlues
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin writes to Arthur, asking him to come home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Honey, Come Home

**Author's Note:**

> Based on/inspired by 'Honey come home' by The Head & The Heart. Go listen to it.
> 
> Eternal gratitude to Jeans & Alas for the beta - without them this fic would be a lot worse. Any remaining mistakes are my own.

Dear Arthur,

Honey, come home. I started calling you ‘honey’ ironically at first, because using pet names never suited either of us so it made me laugh and you scowl. You had two kinds of scowls though – the actually-angry scowl and the just-playing one that I think you saved just for me, hurling it in my direction as we mercilessly insulted each other before shutting each other up with a fierce kiss or a burst of laughter. I could always tell the difference between the two scowls. You never thought I could, but I spent more than enough time studying your face to recognise that slight curl in your lip; that wicked gleam in your eye. I knew every inch of you, so even if you tried to lie to me, your body would betray you. You never lied to me though, not seriously. Only ever in jest.

Have I told you recently how much I miss you?

I don’t really know how to feel at the moment. It seems as though when you were around, everything felt solid - people, places. I could feel the walls and I could feel my relationships with my family, my friends. Without you - I guess it seems like everything is suddenly fragile, as though it could break down at any second with no warning. You were the best and only constant. You never broke down, and since you left I’ve been trying to figure out how to hold my life together, to juggle it all and remain strong in the face of uncertainty - but that was your trick, not mine. If you were here you’d just smile at my attempts to be brave, kiss me on the cheek and tell me I can let it fall apart all I need to, because you’re there to catch me, to put my life back together. Except you’re not. Who knows, maybe you wouldn’t say that; you leaving showed that maybe I can’t predict you like I thought I could.

I wish you were here to catch it.

Do you remember the walks we used to go on when we first got together? We’d both have Sundays free, so we’d have a ridiculously late brunch and then walk to the lake through the woods. Always the same damn walk, and we’d always end up holding hands somewhere along the way without quite knowing when it happened. Sometimes I feel like I can remember every minute, every second, of those walks. Every step, every crunch of leaves and every twig that I would trip over - though you would always catch me. Other times the memories all blur together, and I’m just left with the sound of the ripples on the lake and the smell of autumn.

Some days, I forget what you smell like. I still have your shampoo in my bathroom, and that helps – you left some things behind, after all. But it’s the smell of you – not your shampoo, your soap, or your aftershave, just you, fresh out of bed first thing in the morning with your hair a complete mess. That’s the smell I miss. Sometimes I wake in the middle of the night convinced I can catch a whiff of it, but it’s never quite right. It’s never you.

It’s never you.

I miss you so much and I still don’t understand why you left. Please come back?

I love you.  
Merlin 

\---

Dear Arthur,

Honey, come home. When Gwen and Lance got together, she started calling him ‘Honey’, and we exchanged glances every time. It sounded so much more natural coming out of her mouth, but it was our thing somehow. I couldn’t decide if it made me smile because it reminded me of how much you hated it (except you never hated it, not really) or if it made me jealous because she was using our word. Which was ridiculous, because it was just a word, but I felt like it was mine just as you were mine. Just like mornings with too-strong tea and burnt toast were ours, and wearing each other’s boxers because we picked up the wrong pair, and kisses with morning breath were ours. We weren’t the first to have them, and I’m sure we’re not the last, but they were ours.

Gwen and Lance say hi, by the way. They send their love. They never would have chosen sides, you know. They were always just as close with both of us. I know Gwen started out as my friend and Lance as yours, but then we did that annoying couple thing of creating one big conglomeration of a friendship group and everyone was everyone’s. (Except I was yours and you were mine, and I thought that was one thing that no one could change.)

I think they’re at a loss as to what to do with me at the moment. They’re trying, of course – they keep coming round and announcing film nights, or dragging me out to the pub for a few drinks. I appreciate the effort, of course I do, but it’s hard. I reach for your hand during films, and buy you drinks at the pub, and what if I’m out with them and you come home? I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself. I know it sounds crazy - you would know that I’d be back soon, but when you come home I want mine to be the first face you see.

It’s weird to still be calling the flat ‘home’. It was only ever home when you were there – at your desk getting work done, in the kitchen yelling at the oven, on the sofa with your arms around me. If you were going to leave, why did you have to leave me in the place we called our home? I can’t move without seeing you in this damn flat – I’m constantly convinced that I’ll turn a corner or open a door and you’ll be there like you’d never left. If I’m completely honest, I’m half convinced this is your idea of an elaborate practical joke, like you’ll jump out any minute yelling ‘Surprise! I never left you after all. I was hiding in the cupboard the whole time! Time to put your shattered heart back together and make me breakfast!’

You’d laugh if I told you how many times I’ve checked the cupboard just in case. If it was a practical joke I’d be fucking furious, but I’d forgive you - you know that, right? You should come home. I’ll forgive you.

I love you.

Merlin

\---

 

Dear Arthur,

Honey, come home. I’ve been working really hard to be a better person.

Because yes, we were in love, but there were bits of me that you didn’t like, right? There must have been. There were things that made you cross, things we argued about, reasons why you left. So I’ve been fixing myself.

You always said I was messy. I mean, compared to your levels of cleanness (that I still claim are at least a bit OCD), anyone else’s standards would be considered messy, except possibly Morgana’s. Must run in the family, right? But I’ve cleaned out the fridge. There was something in the back that had gone green and smelly - I think maybe it used to be Bolognese. I cleaned all the counters down as well and the entire kitchen is spotless.

I’ve stopped leaving all my clothes in a pile on the floor – most of the time you ignored it, but I caught a scowl on your face when you looked at it a couple of times, so it must have bothered you. But they’re all away now, all in their rightful place – even the stupid fucking neck scarves that you made fun of me for, even though you bought me a new one every fucking Christmas.

I was always too stubborn, so I’ve been working on that too. I’m trying to be less stubborn, more forgiving, less argumentative, more trusting. Though you always said I was too trusting, so maybe I’m doing the wrong thing? Should I be trying to be less trusting? Just tell me what to do and I’ll do it. I’m trying so fucking hard. Please just let me know how to be better, to be the person you want me to be.

I love you.

Merlin

\---

 

Dear Arthur,

Honey, come home. Do you have any fucking idea what you’re putting me through? It’s like one day you just woke up and thought ‘Hmm, not much to do today, better amuse myself by breaking Merlin’s pathetic little fucking heart’. Sound accurate?

Because I’ll be honest. I had no fucking clue. No idea of what was coming. Was the surprise part of the fun, you sadistic little fuck?

Sometimes I can’t help but laugh at myself, I sound so ridiculous. Sometimes I speak and all I can hear in my head is Molly Weasley: “Bed empty? No note? Car gone?” But you’re not here for me to screech to, not here to laugh at my stupid fucking Harry Potter references all the fucking time and WHY THE FUCK NOT?

I don’t even understand. Call me an idiot all you like (and god knows you used to, not everyone can graduate with firsts like you) but I don’t even know why you’re not here anymore. I keep going over every tiny detail in my head and I can’t make it make sense.

Why can’t you just get in touch? Just tell me why you left? Can’t you see I’m struggling?

One day you said that I would miss your head lying next to mine in our bed. We were only joking at the time – I think I’d called you a fat-head – but had you been planning leaving that long? Did you already know you were going to leave me in that bed alone? Because I wanted to die with you.  
Oh god, now I sound fucking suicidal. That’s not what I meant. I didn’t want to die, I still don’t want to die, but when it eventually happened I wanted it to be with the one I loved beside me. And that’s you - why don’t you get it?

We were supposed to be grouchy old men together, fighting over the brandy (even though neither of us like it) and doing the crossword together.

I fucking hate you for leaving and ruining that.

I hate that I love you.

Merlin.

\---

 

Dear Arthur,

Honey, come home. This is going to be the last time I ask.

I have to stop writing these letters. They’re not good for me. Apparently Gwen and Gaius have been talking about me behind my back and have decided what’s good for me, which is pretty fucking hypocritical, to tell you the truth.

You remember how we used to make fun of Uncle Gaius’ patients, ‘the crazies’? “God, how deranged would people have to be to get help from Gaius, of all people?” Well fuck, wouldn’t you just laugh yourself stupid at me, now that I’m one of them.

He told me I should write letters. Letters are apparently a good way to work through things, to get your thoughts out onto paper in a sensible and logical way. Guess he’s never seen my writing before.

So after it all happened - after pulling the car out of the ditch, after the funeral, after the court case (he went to prison, you know, he was pissed as a fart. Gwen told me, but I couldn’t face going. They were talking about you like you weren’t a human being) - Gaius suggested that I start writing to you. Saying what I would say to you if you were still alive.

Gwen started taking the wine out of my flat. OUR flat, for fuck’s sake, it’s still our flat regardless of whether you’re here or not. We chose it together, we decorated it together, we filled it with our love. It was always ours.

They said the letters started making me believe you were still alive, that I insisted on staying in the flat in case you came home. That I blamed you for stuff that couldn’t have been your fault because it happened after you’d gone.

Kind of ironic, that the therapy techniques designed to help me cope just made me crazier, huh? You’d laugh. Oh god, I miss your laugh. I’ve almost forgotten what it sounds like. Sounded like.

We were supposed to die together, you know. Sounds morbid, but we were supposed to die peacefully in our sleep with our heads next to each other and our hands clasped, fingers intertwined in death as they were in life. I’m trying to forgive you for fucking up the whole plan. I just wanted to die with the one I love beside me.

How am I supposed to do this without you, Arthur? You were always the strong one. I’d give anything for you to be here right now. For you to be home.

I love you more than anything.

Merlin


End file.
